


Sandy Cohen and the Secret of the Bagels and Lox

by serialkarma



Category: The OC
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serialkarma/pseuds/serialkarma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Yorkers love their bagels and lox.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandy Cohen and the Secret of the Bagels and Lox

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [comment ](http://www.livejournal.com/users/hackthis/169047.html?thread=2906455#t2906455)[](http://stphjay.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://stphjay.livejournal.com/)**stphjay** made a few days ago. So thanks and may she have all the bagels, toasted or not, that she ever wants!

'Twas an hour before dawn, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring--except Sandy Cohen, ex-New Yorker and all around groovy, very hip dude. If he did say so himself.

He wasn't so much "stirring," actually, as stealthily creeping barefoot down the hall, thanking (for once) his father-in-law for building *quality* luxury homes, free of squeaky floorboards.

Sandy was on a mission. A top-secret, super-classified mission of which even his wife, nestled snug in her bed, had no clue. He trusted Kirsten with the standard important things--their money, their child, their happiness--but he didn’t trust her not to let slip to her sister, the Bagel Stealer, that there was a sack of bagels--real, genuine, shipped directly from New York City bagels--stashed in the back of the freezer. Not to mention the ziploc bag of salmon (cleverly mislabeled as pickled ginger) hidden behind the relish in the fridge.

This was Sandy's private stash, and he guarded it more carefully than he had ever guarded his stash of pot in college. Pot was meant to be shared--after all, it was never as much fun to get high all by yourself.

Good lox and cream cheese on a bagel, on the other hand, was a very private experience. He'd be damned before he gave up one slice or one crumb--especially to the Bagel Stealer, who couldn't possibly savor it the way it was meant to be.

He cracked open the refrigerator door carefully, just enough to slide his arm in and root around for the camouflaged lox. After a couple of false starts--packages of deli meat felt an awful lot like the bag of salmon--he stuck his head inside to see what he was doing.

"Dad? What are you doing up?"

Sandy would have jumped a foot in the air if his head hadn't encountered the edge of the top shelf of the fridge. He managed to keep his yelp of pain to a loud whisper, but the contents of the fridge rattled like a 4.0 and he quickly closed the door to muffle the sound. Seth was standing next to the kitchen island, still in his jeans and t-shirt from the night before, although his feet were bare. His hair was standing straight up on one side and there was a crease down his cheek. Sandy thought he looked like the world's tallest 5-year-old.

"What am I doing up? What are *you* doing up? I don't think I've seen you awake before eleven on a Sunday since you hit puberty." Sandy wasn't a good trial lawyer for nothing. He knew the best defense was a good offense. Good trial lawyers also didn't worry about mixing their metaphors at crucial moments.

"Dad, please don't say 'puberty.' Also, Playstation death match in the pool house. I fell asleep after Ryan kicked my ass for the seventh time at that stupid football game Luke got him into. You know, I think Luke's a bad influence on him. You should probably look into that." Seth yawned  
around his last sentence and rubbed his hair absently. Sandy hoped he'd forget his original question and just shuffle off to bed.

"So why are you awake, anyway? Mom snoring again?" No such luck. Seth was definitely his son.

"Ah, no, no more than usual. You know your mother."

"I hate to say it, Dad, but I don't think I do. Not in *that* sense and can you never imply otherwise again. And can we please change the subject back to why you're apparently in super stealth mode in the middle of the night, before my mind goes places I'd really, really rather not think about?"

A change of tactics was obviously in order here. If you can’t beat ‘em, ask ‘em to join you. Or something.

"Seth, I’ll tell you a secret. First of all, your mother snores like a 300 pound grizzly bear in hibernation. Second, we have lox." As he spoke, he opened the fridge and pulled out the salmon, flourishing it like Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune.

"Lox," Seth repeated, blinking. "You're up at 3 in the morning for lox?"

"Ahh, but not just any lox!” Sandy leaned forward, bringing Seth into the conspiracy. "This is the good shizznit."

"Dad, *please* don't say shizznit."

"All right, shizznit is crossed off the list."

“You have a *list*?” his son yelped in horror.

“Shhh! Keep your voice down! You’ll wake your mother. Or God forbid, Hailey. And yes, in fact, I do have a list. Can I still say mad props?”

“Dad, I think it’s better if you stick to your generation’s vocabulary.”

“Groovy.” He cheerfully ignored the eye roll and got on with the bagel lesson.

“In any case, lists are important, Seth. Here's a list for you: Lox. Genuine New York bagels. Cream cheese.” He pulled out each item as he spoke and set them all on the counter. “Now *that's* a list."

He laid out the salmon on the counter. “This, son, is lox.”

Seth propped his elbows on the counter and gave Sandy as indulgent a look as only a 16-year-old at 3 a.m. could. “I've seen lox before, Dad.”

“Yes, but I don’t think you properly appreciate what a special thing a bagel with lox is when made correctly. Come here, son, let me teach you the art of making a fine New York delicacy. It’s part of your heritage, you know!”

“Is this, like, a Cohen family secret, passed down from father to son over the years, all the way back to great-great grandpa Cohen in the Old Country? Whichever Old Country it was? Is there a secret family handshake too? Were we like the Jewish mafia or something?”

Sandy loved his son more than anything in the world, but sometimes it was better not to engage him in actual conversation.

“Mad props, son, that’s exactly it! Now, pay attention, this part is important--you should never need to toast the bagel...”

And as Sandy went into the details of making a correctly proportioned sandwich, he considered that in this case, sharing the secret of his stash in the fridge was a good thing. The right thing. It was his duty as a father, after all, to teach the next generation about the joys of a bagel and lox.

\--end--


End file.
